


WankMate II

by Leela



Series: WankMate the Series [2]
Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-27
Updated: 2010-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-10 20:17:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco takes his turn testing out the WankMate<sup>TM</sup>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	WankMate II

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta:** eeyore9990
> 
> **A/N:** Apparently, this is going to be a series. Something I didn't know when I wrote the first one.

Draco lifted his right hand, twisting it and turning it, admiring the way it glistened in the candlelight. "Damn, Potter. You really should have found me already," he said and then he laughed exultantly.

Fuck, but his idea had been great. Even if he did say so himself, and he most definitely did. Giving up a small percentage of his share of the profits for developing the lube in return for a guarantee that he'd be partnered with Potter during the WankMateTM trials was worth every Knut.

He just wished he'd been able to _see_ the look on Potter's face. And, to hell with Angelina's suggestion that that part was up to him, that he had to get himself into the same room as Potter. There had to be a way to make the WankMateTM even more interactive.

Still, he did have a fantastic imagination, and he knew how to use it.

Closing his eyes, he brought up his favourite memory of Potter -- all dishevelled clothing and wild hair, green eyes alight with the exhilaration of a Quidditch match. His gloves still slick with lube and the spunk that wasn't, but could have been, should have been, Potter's, Draco slid his hands down his torso.

Left hand on his nipples, right hand on his cock. Up. Down. Squeeze. Tug. Pull. Attempting to match the rhythm that Potter had set that one time Draco had caught him wanking in the Quidditch showers at Hogwarts. Squeeze. Tug. Pull. Pinch.

Draco's hips moved in counterpoint, thrusting into his gloved hand. Closer, closer, closer, his bollocks drawing up.

His wand sounded an alarm.

Eyes snapping open, his grip slackening, Draco grinned. Potter had apparently worked out how to trigger the WankMate charms. This was going to be fun.

Draco squeezed and pinched, enjoying the sensation of his own touch.

And then a hand grasped his cock. A finger slipped downwards, dragging a trail across his bollocks, pressing on his perineum, teasing his arsehole. The barely felt touch made a mockery of the tight grip Potter's unmoving hand had on Draco's cock.

Draco twisted his hips, moved his own hands, hands he could hardly feel, and bit back the words that wanted to spill out of him, words that encouraged Potter to shift one of his fucking hands, _goddamn it_.

Then, when Draco was about ready to hex Potter to the afterlife, his hands moved.

Squeeze. Tug. Pull. A scrape of a thumb over the head of his cock.

Two fingers pressed inside Draco, just far enough inside him to tempt and tease and have him pushing down on them, feeling, wanting, knowing that they could, would, should bump his prostate.

"More," he breathed. "Fuck, Potter. More."

But nothing changed. Squeeze. Tug. Pull. Setting a rhythm as steady and slow and sure as Draco's hadn't been. A nail traced the slit at the tip of his cock. Squeeze. Tug. Pull. Trace.

Spreading his legs, opening himself up, Draco rotated his hips. Searching, wanting, needing those fingers deeper, further. More, just fucking more, because Draco didn't like, didn't want, had never needed to restrain himself -- in anything.

"Fuck me, Potter," he groaned.

As if Potter had heard him, the fingers withdrew and were replaced by something thicker, blunter, warmer, and Draco threw his head back, took hold of his headboard with both hands, drew his legs up, and let go.

Writhing, thrusting. In and out. Scraping past his prostate, sending sparks throughout his body. Squeezing, tugging, pulling. Until Draco was utterly lost. All of his want and need and desire dissolving in the rush of blood through his veins, the pounding of his heart, the wordless cry wrenched out of him as his muscles clenched around Potter's cock, as he came into Potter's fist.

Fingers cramping, Draco forced himself to let go of the headboard. "You fucking, brilliant bastard. How did you get the gloves to do that?" When there was no response, he muttered, "You damn well better come find me."

Then it happened: a soft touch, a brush of lips over his own, a promise of something more, different, better.

And Draco was alone again.


End file.
